42. Chapter Forty-Two Nathan

Chapter Forty-Two: Nathan

W e had twelve hours to rescue my sister.

Twelve hours to kill my father.

Twelve hours…before the end.

We stood there, my heart still racing from our conversation with my father. The chill of the rain-soaked night clung to my skin, but it was nothing compared to the cold dread that sank into my bones when we heard those words.

I always knew Ba was a piece of work, but this?

This was monstrous.

"Jesus," I muttered, shaking my head. "I knew he was bad news…"

"Bad news?" Abby said. "Nathan, this is…this is evil."

"Tell me about it." My jaw was tight enough to snap. We locked eyes for a second, and I could see the same horror reflected back at me.

Abby glanced away first, breaking the moment. She looked around the room, her face set in grim lines. In that space where talk usually was, silence hung heavy. But I was thankful for it. Thankful she didn't ask if I was okay because I wasn't sure I could lie convincingly.

Hell, I wasn't sure of anything except the mess that was piling up around us.

"Come on," she finally said, her voice all business. "We both need a shower, then we need to start making calls."

Abby's hand closed around mine, her grip firm as she pulled me toward the bathroom. The same place where only weeks ago I was patching up wounds I’d placed on her, watching blood mix with water on tile.

I’d nearly killed her.

The thought twisted in my gut.

"Come on," she said, a no-nonsense edge to her voice.

We stepped into the bathroom, and she let go of my hand to start the shower. Water hissed against the stall, steam curling up towards the ceiling. She peeled off her shirt and chucked it onto the floor. It landed with a wet slap, the fabric darkened by rain and sweat.

I caught my reflection in the mirror. Stubble roughed up my jawline, hair a tangled mess. I looked like hell. A haircut and shave were overdue, but then again, so was a decent night's sleep.

I turned away from the haunting man in the mirror and saw Abby. She was shedding her clothes, not even a glance in my direction. The sight of her unguarded like this, it did things to me, stirred up a mess of things I couldn't sort out.

"Abby," I said, my voice low. I stopped her mid-motion, catching her arm. Her eyes met mine, and they held that fire, that fight she never lost no matter how deep we were in this hellhole.

"You should've left me by now." My hand tightened on her arm, but not enough to hurt, just enough to feel real. "I don't deserve you being here, sticking around for—"

Fuck!

I felt the slap more than I heard it, a sharp crack against my cheek that snapped my head to the side. My skin stung, my ears rang, and for a moment, the world was just pain and shock.

"Look," Abby's voice cut through the haze, "I'm sorry, I know you've been slapped a lot lately…but you can fuck right off."

I blinked, shaking off the sting. Her glare pinned me against the wall harder than any bullet could. Her eyes were like twin storms, and I was standing dead center in the path of destruction.

There was no shelter here, no mercy—just Abby, raw and fierce and unyielding.

"Look, I didn't mean it that way," I said, my voice more tired than I wanted it to be. But Abby wasn't having any of it. She crossed her arms over her chest, her wet hair clinging to her face like she'd just been through another kind of storm.

"Doesn't matter," she shot back. "I'm not going anywhere. And you? You need to get used to it. So, are we showering or what?"

I stopped dead, frozen by her willpower.

Then I started moving again.

Without another word, I started undressing. My movements were robotic, as if someone else was controlling my limbs. Shirt off, pants unbuttoned—I was on autopilot, stripping away the day's horrors along with my clothes.

Abby turned her back to me and stepped into the shower. The sound of the water hitting the tile floor brought me back to reality. I glanced at her silhouette behind the frosted glass, then peeled off the rest of my clothes. I took a deep breath—it was time to wash away the grime of the day.

When I joined her, the shower was already steamy, the air thick with heat. Abby didn't say anything, just moved to give me space under the spray. The water was hot, almost too hot, but I didn't move to change it. Abby's back was turned to me as she rinsed her hair, and I stood there, letting the stream wash over me, trying to rinse off more than just dirt.

"Abby," I said, my voice barely above the sound of the falling water. "I'm sorry, okay? I've been all over the place, and I…I'm scared." The words felt like boulders rolling off my tongue, heavy with truth. "For Lily, for Knuckles. For you and our kid. I wasn't scared before, but now I am, and I hate it."

Abby turned off the water and faced me, droplets streaming down her face. She reached up, her hand cool against my wet skin, and touched my cheek. Her eyes locked onto mine, fierce and unyielding. "Nathan, you can't be brave if you've never been scared. This is what it means to be brave: being scared and facing it anyway."

Her words hit me hard, like a punch to the gut, but in a good way. They knocked some sense back into me. It was raw, real, and something I needed to hear. I nodded, not trusting my voice, because she was right.

Fear was part of the game now, and it was time I learned to play by these new rules.

“Now…” she paused. “Wash your hair, scrub down, then I’m going to shave off that goatee. It doesn’t suit you.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You really think fashion matters right now?’

She shrugged. “Tonight’s a special occasion. I want you looking your best when you kill your father.”

Water shut off, and we stepped out of the shower. I kept it all business, no lingering glances or touches, despite every part of me wanting otherwise. I unlocked the drawer by the sink and passed Abby the straight razor and cream. "Here," I said, voice rough.

"Sit," she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument. So I did, resting on the closed toilet lid, a towel thrown over my lap to catch any stray drops of water.

Abby straddled me, still completely naked, her knees pressing into my sides. She worked the shaving cream onto my face, her fingers cool and efficient. With my head tilted back, I saw only the ceiling and the edge of her jawline.

She picked up the straight razor, the metal catching light as she opened it. "Funny," she said, her voice steady as she brought the blade toward my skin.

"What?" I asked.

"The first week I was here, you punished me for having a shiv. Now you're handing me a knife and asking me to put it to your throat."

I laughed and she clicked her tongue.

“Stop laughing or my hand might slip,” she said.

So I stayed still…listened. Looked at the ceiling, cleared my mind. I wanted to talk, to apologize, to tell her all the things I’d thought of when I was in prison—but I couldn’t articulate it.

I had to just sit with it .

“You know…” she said, talking to fill the silence. “I understand we’re staying in the business, but I think I’d like a house without a kill room when we move in together officially.”

I didn’t say anything; couldn’t even laugh. The razor glided across my chin.

“Maybe a nice place north of the city, up by the redwoods. To remind us of when I held a gun to my head and you proposed.”

Jesus , she was going to make me laugh. It was almost like she was trying.

“Moments like this just make me nostalgic,” she said. “And…done.”

She leaned over to grab a wet washcloth from the sink, then she set to work smoothing the shaving cream away from my face. Still straddling me—still very, very much naked—she took my face in her hands and turned it side to side, checking out her handiwork.

“I don’t trust myself to give you a good haircut, otherwise I would do that too,” she murmured. “I guess that will just have to wait until after the coup.”

I snorted, rested my hands on her thighs. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

She smiled. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

I took her chin between my fingers, pulled her in…pressed my lips to hers. Now wasn’t the time, but I knew this time might be our last.

So I had to have her.

I moved the towel from between us, let her feel how hard I was just from her chiding words and her careful touch. Abby’s breath came out in a rush against my lips, her forehead resting to mine. “Nathan…” she sighed.

“Just…feel this,” I murmured. “Wanna be with you one last time.”

“Shut up about last times,” she said. “And fucking kiss me.”

I canted my hips to thrust inside her, and then I did as she asked.

Her body fit around me perfectly, clenching my cock, wet and hot. Abby moaned, the noise loud enough to rattle my teeth. She ground down onto me, her hips rising and falling in response to my thrusts. Her fingers tangled in my hair and she pulled me closer.

"Fuck," I groaned, feeling like I was going to come any second. Her nails raked down my back, leaving trails of fire in their wake. I could feel the tension building in her muscles, and I wanted to push her over the edge with me.

"Abby," I whispered, my voice thick with lust and need. "Come with me, please. I want to feel you when I do."

Her eyes flashed open, green like the ocean in the eye of the storm. She moaned, rolled her hips. I wanted it to last longer, but we were running short on time.

“Yes…give it to me,” she whispered. “Please.”

So I did.

I gave her everything. Yes, I came with her…but I gave her all the love I could summon, all the emotion, all the pain and grief. I held her to me and I kissed her hard one last time…

…then I reminded myself this wasn’t the last time.

She’d told me to cut that shit out.

It was about time I did.